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She smiles while she recalls how lovely her face looks now
A daughter's note
Most of her nights are now torn, and the early morning hours gloomy. Her shriveled body drained before she even climbs out of bed.
But she smiles while she recalls how lovely her face looks now.
Her spine is hunched, rounded by the lifelong burden of an unshared past. Her fingers twisted. Protruded in the joints, so no ring will ever garnish them again. Her toes, used to vanish in stylish high heel shoes, now bent and curled into a perpetual ache.
Her hair decayed to a thinning, silvery gray where once dense, dark curls rose to life. Her makeup now slightly exaggerated at times — minor imperfections she no longer sees. The bowel declined to an organ she can’t control. And her drug bag stuffed to the brim because the doctor is where she most frequently goes.
The noise of once turbulent children and a raging husband has long since been substituted with shallow TV programs to help erase the growing silence.
When she looks and feels around, she would have all the right reasons to go cranky.
But she waved goodbye to her external youth long ago and internalized that changes must occur. That they are part of everything that recycles itself. Which she and no one else will…
